


No Plans After All

by ColtDancer



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Exhaustion, Fluff, Gen, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColtDancer/pseuds/ColtDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sketched out to fill a prompt posted quite a while back at the trek_hc , for someone who wanted some worn-out cadets.  It's just a drabble, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Plans After All

Wind gusted down the corridor of buildings that housed medical sciences and Starfleet's main research facilities, kicking up tornadic swirls of dry brown leaves in its wake. Despite San Francisco's 'warmer' climate, this cold snap that beckoned the approach of winter in California darkened Leonard's already questionable mood. He was a Georgia-boy, through and through, and 45 degrees with heavy fog and mist-that-was-trying-to-be-rain may as well have been an arctic blast. 

At the very least, the less than desirable weather seemed to have kept the majority of the city's foolhardy residents someplace warm and safe; his rounds had been wholly uneventful and he'd been able to log hours in the lab afterwards. He was feeling weary now, and not particularly anxious to tackle the next phase of studies and reports that marked the end of another term at the end of the month. For what remained of this draining day, Leonard wanted to kick back and relax. Although the thought of a cold, dark brew in their usual hangout was tempting, so too was the thought of staying in and hitting his private stash within the warmth and comfort of his own room. 

Whatever they decided, McCoy knew he would be able to count on Jim to suggest a worthy release for the last several weeks of hell, and was beginning to look forward to an evening off. And if he knew Jim at all, the kid was probably already waiting in his room, impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch after having raided the kitchenette. Shaking his head and preparing his usual grumbling lecture about Jim stocking his ‘own damn refrigerator’, McCoy entered the access code to his studio flat.

"So help me, Jim, if you took my last --" 

McCoy stopped short as the door hissed shut. 

Sprawled across his couch amidst a strewn array of study materials - old-fashioned texts, obscure hand-written notes, and oddly discordant PADDs - Jim lay practically face down in the seam of a book he'd been studying. McCoy dumped his laden bag on the floor and shrugged out of his parka and uniform jacket, shivering at the loss of layers, and cast a critical eye across his friend's disheveled appearance. Jim had crashed hard, by the look of things. He certainly wasn't prepared for a night in the city; he had thrown on a pair of faded sweats and an old long-sleeved shirt; and apparently, was cold judging by the way he had tangled himself in the old throw that usually lay across the back of the couch. He looked damn tired. 

McCoy frowned and crossed the room to retrieve one of the pillows from his bed. The couch was actually pretty comfortable and was all but molded to Jim’s form by now anyway. Leonard stepped over a bag and reached down to gently tug a PADD and book from beneath his friend's prone form, murmuring a quiet, "Jim," as he tidied the scattered items on the floor. There was no response. Aberrantly dead to the world. 

Jim finally startled at a gentle prod to his shoulder, but could not seem to pull himself fully awake, struggling to sit up and grunting. His eyes were bleary and refused to focus; it looked very wrong on him. Leonard found himself discomfited by the sight. 

"Hey, it's okay; you're fine - it's just me," Leonard replied in a hush, guiding him back towards the cushions. "You're exhausted, Jim. It's the weekend. Go back to sleep." 

He would have sworn the kid was already asleep before his head even hit the pillow placed under him, save for the soft groan of relief that he heard as Jim burrowed into its depths and pulled the thick blanket up around himself. One sleepy blue eye peeked out from beneath with a slurred, "Thanks, Bones," before his entire body went slack and he was out once more. 

Leonard fought the urge to pull out his tricorder, but thought better of it and decided to check his breakfast supplies. It was safe to surmise Jim would sleep through the night and, unless he was coming down with something, would be famished and ready to gnaw on the furniture legs at the ass-crack of dawn. Thanks to his own addictive vices, there was plenty of coffee. Some overripe fruit and biscuit mix might provide half-way edible pancakes from his old electric griddle...close enough. He’d made meals out of less and had far more experience now. 

Kicking off his boots and sinking heavily to his bed, Leonard rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his forehead into open palms. Damn, but he was tired, too. Glancing back to study Jim, whose breathing was deep and heavy (a sound that he’d never admit was actually comforting), he nodded to himself and decided to chuck his uniform for some comfortable clothing of his own. McCoy flopped back into his bed and pulled the covers over himself with a contented sigh. He realized, as he began to drift rather suddenly, that even if Jim hadn’t made wild plans for them to blow off steam, the kid had indeed provided a fantastic idea after all.


End file.
